


i will care for you even when you have forgotten

by grapehyasynth



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drunk Jemma, F/M, Season 2, caring fitz, in the dark times when fs weren't speaking, missing moment, right after trip's death, s2, still in the midst of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 06:52:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6646339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grapehyasynth/pseuds/grapehyasynth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz sat at the kitchen table, watching Jemma’s head where it just peeped over the edge of the couch in the common area. He wanted to go to bed, as it was well past two, and besides, they weren’t each other’s caretakers anymore - were they even friends? But he had never not been there for Jemma when she was drunk. It went unspoken that if ever they were at a party or a bar, they could do their own thing for the night but they would always make sure the other got home safely. He didn’t know what was making her drink so hard and fast tonight - whether it was one specific cause or the accumulation of a year and a half with Coulson’s team - but even if he had been able to make himself go to bed, he’d never fall asleep, running through all the scenarios in which she could hurt herself. </p><p>(Set right after Trip's death. Missing moment from Season 2.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i will care for you even when you have forgotten

It was the drunkest Fitz had ever seen Jemma. Long after no-holds-barred karaoke Jemma, several stages past loud and belligerent Jemma, and with first-drink touchy-feely Jemma long forgotten, she’d become morose, unfocused. Only weeks before, Fitz would have assumed that it was specifically Trip’s death that had started the spiral, but it had been Daisy, not Jemma, who’d broken down during the team’s informal memorial service and talked about flirting with Trip during mission debriefs and their plans to someday get dinner and go dancing. The older agents had gone to their bunks, each prepared to deal with the fallen agent in their long-practiced personal ways, and eventually Daisy too had gotten her tears under control enough to walk herself to bed. 

Fitz sat at the kitchen table, watching Jemma’s head where it just peeped over the edge of the couch in the common area. He wanted to go to bed, as it was well past two, and besides, they weren’t each other’s caretakers anymore - were they even friends? But he had never not been there for Jemma when she was drunk. It went unspoken that if ever they were at a party or a bar, they could do their own thing for the night but they would always make sure the other got home safely. He didn’t know what was making her drink so hard and fast tonight - whether it was one specific cause or the accumulation of a year and a half with Coulson’s team - but even if he had been able to make himself go to bed, he’d never fall asleep, running through all the scenarios in which she could hurt herself. 

He heard her let out a quiet hiccup as she tottered to her feet, swinging an empty glass between two fingers. Her eyes tried to focus on him as she made her way into the kitchen, but they didn’t succeed, slipping past him instead to the cabinet where the liquor was stored. She set her glass down too loudly on the table and reached for the handle. 

“Jemma, I think you’ve had enough,” Fitz said quietly. 

“I’m fine!” she said indignantly, leaning heavily back against the refrigerator as she turned to face him. 

“You’re not fine.” Fitz wasn’t one to question someone’s autonomy, let alone Jemma’s, but he knew her tells. There were little pink dots across her cheeks, her own version of an alcohol blush, and her lips and brows were slightly puckered as if she was holding her face together. She blinked too rapidly, though again, her eyes kept sliding off of his face, a symptom he hadn’t seen on her before. “I think you should call it a night.” 

She moved forward to grab her glass but fell instead, and he only just caught her as he leapt off his stool. “Whoops,” she said breathlessly from where her face was pressed to his ribs. 

“Bedtime for Jemma,” he muttered, hauling one of her arms over his shoulder so he could support her as they walked. 

They made it just inside her doorway when she suddenly blanched and said urgently, “Fitz, I think I’m going to-” With what little strength she had left, she hurled herself towards the small bathroom. He heard the toilet seat clink as she lifted it, then the unmistakable sounds of vomit splattering. 

He groaned. “You’re nasty, you know that, Jemma?” he said loudly, but he followed her, as usual, and sat on the side of the tub while she threw up. He gathered her hair gently and held it away from her face with one hand, then used the other to rub up and down her back. Her skin was now covered in sweat and the back of her shirt rode up slightly under his administrations. He tugged it back down carefully. 

At long last, she rolled off of her knees and slumped back against the sink, her whole body shaking and her eyes closed. Fitz stood and wetted a washcloth, then knelt before her. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” he whispered, taking one of her hands so he could scootch her out a bit where he could reach her. She nodded, eyes still closed, looking incredibly small, and he crouched before her, gently wiping the edges of her mouth and chin with one side of the cloth before dabbing the sweat away from her face and neck with the other. He stood, though she grabbed at his pantleg as he did so, and rinsed the washcloth thoroughly before handing it to her to hold to her forehead. She looked up at him now, eyes beginning to clear, watching his movements as he filled a cup with mouthwash. 

“You might want this too,” he said, offering it to her, but when her hand moved up, instead of grabbing the cup, it fisted in his shirt and she began to cry violently. 

“Hey,” he said, slightly panicked. “Hey, Jem. You’re okay. You’re safe.” 

“I miss you,” she sobbed. 

He sighed, setting the cup on the edge of the sink. Clearly she was still thoroughly drunk. He avoided her gaze for as long as he could, but finally he had to look up and meet those eyes that it would have been all too easy to fall into again. “I’m here.” 

“No, I miss _you_ ,” she repeated urgently. “And I can’t possibly ask you to forgive me but-”

After a moment’s hesitation, he reached out a hand to brush away several wet strands of hair and cradle her cheek in his palm. She leaned into it, her tears soaking his skin. 

“You won’t remember this in the morning, Jemma,” he said sadly. She shook her head, unable to speak, but he pressed on, “You won’t. And there will still be this broken thing between us that I just don’t know how to fix. And I know you. You’ll act like everything’s okay-” 

“No, Fitz, nothing is okay!” she insisted, but he pressed the cup to her lips again and this time she accepted it, washing her mouth out and spitting into the toilet. 

Fitz helped her to her feet, flushing the toilet and leading her to bed. She didn’t bother to change, collapsing on top of the covers, but he made her stay up long enough to drink water and nibble some saltines from her snack stash. 

The last thing she saw before he turned out her light was the single tear tracking down his cheek. 

He was right. She didn’t remember any of it the next morning when she finally dragged herself into the kitchen. Nobody commented - they all knew better than that - on her mussed hair and day-old clothes and the slight rancid stench that followed her. And she didn’t notice that he, too, was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, though they were wrinkled at odd angles from where he’d slept in her bathtub until he felt secure leaving her alone. She didn’t remember his care, but the persistent ache she had been drinking to forget was back, pressing against her stomach and lungs and the back of her eyes, an ache that had nothing to do with her hangover.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr! I'm grapehyasynth there as well.


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